Trained To Say Goodbye
by thefireascending
Summary: Effie turns up earlier than usual, carrying a burden she knows she must face. Set before the Quarter Quell. Hayffie implied. Copyright allocated to this account.


The train journey had been grueling, consisting of little more than extended sighs and glances out of the window. With a sigh, Effie straightened her skirt- running her hands along the creases- and stood to collect her luggage from the upper storage. It was heavier than expected, and she began to wish that she had packed a little lighter.

"Excuse me, Madam." A voice from behind made her jump. Spinning around, she found herself standing before an attendant, one dressed rather ironically in white. "Would you like me to take your case?"

Effie politely declined, but said no more. Today she needed no kindness.

Gathering her belongings together, she made her way off the vehicle. The sound of her heels clashing against the ground supplied her with a strange kind of comfort.

Whilst outside, the air was cold. Frost suffocated the once barren land, and a cool breeze whistled through the trees. It howled against the raging sky and pierced her very being.

Effie pulled her jacket tighter around her body, desperate to keep in what little warmth she had, before heading towards the one place she felt safe. Her feet carried her there as though they knew of nothing else.

It all began with a small knock, her hand delicately tapping against the wood. The door swung open. "Oh, it's you," Haymitch grumbled.

"Because, of course, you were expecting something better." The reply was quick and sharp, but somewhat lacking. "It's cold. Are you going to let me in or not?"

Haymitch shrugged and made his way inside, leaving the door open in his wake. The room was noticeably tidier than the last time she had visited, and the stench of alcohol had diminished- to a certain degree, at least. Though dirty clothes still remained draped over his armchair, and the lighting never seemed to improve, it was nothing in comparison.

They stood facing each other for a moment: Effie awkwardly twiddling the hem of her shirt, Haymitch being none the wiser. "Are you not going to offer me a seat?" she joked.

"Not like you've ever needed an invitation before."

Effie narrowed her eyes slightly and clicked her tongue. "It's called manners, Haymitch. The politething to do is ask." But she knew the prospect of civility was- and always would be- a mystery to him. A notion he was unable to grasp.

Haymitch took the seat opposite her, leaning back with a smirk. "So why do I owe you the pleasure of my company so early? Thought I wouldn't be seeing you until tomorrow, Sweetheart."

Rolling her eyes, Effie said, "It's no surprise that I'd come sooner, seeing as the large majority of the time I'm walking in to find you passed out. Haven't we covered this?"

A demeaning chuckle echoed around the room. "I hate to break it to you, but a large majority of the time, I'm also tuning you out."

"Look, Haymitch," she sighed, clearly exasperated. "I hate this just as much as you do. I'd appreciate it if you worked with me here. I have enough to worry about without having to add you to that list."

He stared at her then, and she stared back expectantly. "I'm ready, aren't I?"

That took her by surprise. In all of her anxiety-filled rambling, she had overlooked the most important thing. He was, in fact, fine. Dressed, shaven, sober. The healthiest she'd ever seen him. "No, I suppose you're quite right," Effie stuttered, seemingly embarrassed by her lack of concentration. But this sensation of speechlessness did not last long. "Whatever has gotten into you?"

Now it was Haymitch's turn to roll his eyes. "And I thought you were observant."

"That doesn't answer my question."

"It was the kids' idea. They thought it would be good for us all to get into shape. And as you should know," Haymitch mimicked, "_A tidy appearance is a tidy mind._" He shook his head slightly at the thought.

A silence settled over the room then. It wasn't uncomfortable as such, but it carried a certain hostility. A conflict that neither participant wanted to arise. "I'm thirsty," Effie said, clasping her palms together, swiftly rising to her feet.

Haymitch spared a glance towards the table, eyes skimming over countless bottles. "There's always alcohol," he shrugged. "Although, considering what happened last time, I doubt you should have that again."

With cheeks almost as crimson as the wine, Effie furrowed her eyebrows and averted her gaze. "Haymitch, you know that's not true."

"No? So you didn't end up walking into a door? Huh. Must be my memory."

"Funny," she said, walking through to the kitchen.

Effie had barely finished boiling the kettle before Haymitch's footsteps could be heard. The noise resonated throughout the room like a lone star against a vacuum: solitary, confined, yet not failing to leave its mark. She heard him take a gulp of his drink before exhaling.

"Haymitch, should-" She stopped in her tracks, taking a moment to recollect herself. "Should you really be drinking that?"

"Unlike you, I can handle my liquor," he snorted.

Effie stared down at the mug clasped between nimble fingers, trailing her thumb along the ceramic. It filled her with warmth, yet not enough to ease the aching. There would always be a part of her forever frozen, concealed within a stake of ice. Her eyes absent-mindedly roamed the room before fixing on a spot in the distance.

"I can see you looking, Sweetheart."

Her head shot up. Raising an eyebrow, she surveyed the situation. "Haymitch, don't be preposterous. I have no idea what you're talking about."

A smirk found its way upon his lips, playing at the corners of his mouth. "So I am completely and utterly delirious when I see your eyes trailing to my stomach? I guess it's not just my memory that's gone."

She hadn't meant to stare, that was for certain. In fact, she hadnt even realised. But now that it was mentioned, and now that he was topless, she couldn't help the surprise that followed. He certainly _was _in better health, there was no denying that.

"That was your cue to stop," Haymitch grumbled, but there was a teasing edge to his words.

Effie closed her eyes and scratched behind her ear. When he came into her line of sight once more, Haymtich was leaning against the kitchen worktop, basking in the joy her embarrassment brought him. She hadn't the energy to fight back a grimace.

Haymitch laughed then, and Effie did too. It was quite the contrast. Small, delicate giggles that chimed like metal in the wind. The calm roaring of waves against an ocean shore. It was a melody contrived from sorrow and joy; love and sadness; pain and heartbreak. And it was beautiful.

But as with all things, it did not last long. Effie fell silent, the glow that once surrounded her dissipating into the ether. She could feel Haymitch's gaze as though it was seeping into her veins, as though there was no escape.

"What?" he said.

Effie glanced up. "What?"

"You've gone suddenly quiet."

"Have I?"

Haymitch leaned forward a little, close enough to see each and every part of her face. "What's wrong?"

Effie swallowed and dropped her eyes to the floor- standing taller as she did so- before plastering a polite smile back upon her face. "It's nothing, Haymitch. I'm just tired from the journey here. That's all."

He didn't seem convinced. Instead, he raised a hand and cupped the back of her head, twiddling a strand of her hair around his finger. His eyes were sad, but hadn't they always been? "Don't do this, Effie. Don't shut me out."

She pulled away then, crossing the room in a few short strides. "I can't do it."

Haymitch dragged a weary hand down his face, elbow leaning against the counter. "You can."

"If I call your name-"

"Peeta will volunteer."

"And that's any better?!" Her voice was low, despite the urgency, and steady breathing became a difficult feat.

Haymitch pushed himself back and took her quivering hands in his own. "Effie, you need to calm the hell down," he growled. "None of this is going to change anything. You'll go out there, you'll smile, you'll reach into the bowl, and whether you draw my name or not, nothing's going to get any better."

Her voice was almost silent, a whisper into the void. "I'm sorry."

"I know," he said. And he did. He always would.

And so in that moment, the boundaries of time no longer meant anything to the pair, for they existed in the knowledge that it may be all they had. The universe could be cruel and unforgiving, an endless chasm of pitiful days, but it was worth it.

It was all worth it in the end.


End file.
